


Nothing (Everything) to Love

by Lemon_Candy



Category: GOT7
Genre: Angst, Aphrodisiacs, Bondage, Bottom!Mark, Choking, Drugs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pretty Messed Up, Rough Sex, top!jackson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-06-07 16:24:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15223073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lemon_Candy/pseuds/Lemon_Candy
Summary: Mark wakes up in an unfamiliar room with no recollection of how he gets there. The only thing he recognizes is Jackson, but that isn't a good thing either.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Basically just a nasty pwp of Mark and Jackson, and its non-con so please know what you're getting into before reading!! 
> 
> I'm sorry in advance
> 
> P.S. I feel like this needs to be said: this is merely a fantasy of mine, and in no way do I actually support rape/sexual abuse in any way.

When Mark awakens, he finds himself on a bed with his hands bound together, mouth gagged, and limbs that can barely move––was he drugged? He had to be. Mark vaguely remembers being offered a drink and feeling himself grow drowsy right after taking a single sip. 

After that point, his memories were too hazy to properly remember, which was very unsettling, and he curses his past self for making terrible decisions. Mark wasn’t even sure how much time had passed since he was unconscious. The panic starts to set in slowly but surely as his drowsiness fades, and Mark’s eyes try frantically searching the dark room for any signs of familiarity or a way to get out. There are none.

While his thoughts are racing a mile a minute, Mark misses the door to the room quietly creaking open, revealing the shadowy figure of a man making its way towards where he was. His head snaps up when the figure is directly in front of him, and it takes a moment for his eyes to adjust in the darkness and realize it’s someone he knows. _Jackson?_ Mark’s eyes go wide. He’s suddenly relieved, because this was probably all some prank they pulled on him and Jackson is here to tell him with his usual, cheesy grin, “We got you, hyung!”

But those words don’t come, only Jackson is closer now, leaning over his form on the bed, and those dark eyes are intensely staring into his own slightly cloudy ones. The distance between them is minute enough that he can feel Jackson’s breaths against the side of his face. Yet, the other boy is still not saying anything, Mark notices. Why?

He makes a confused noise in the back of his throat and struggles a little with his tied hands in hopes that Jackson will get the hint and free him from the restraints. Jackson seems to understand, and Mark is grateful when the younger reaches behind his head and slips off the gag. His relief is short lived, because a searing kiss is forcefully pressed to his mouth as soon as the cloth is gone. 

It all happened so fast. Mark wants to scream––he _is_ screaming––and kick out, but Jackson’s tongue shoving itself down his throat effectively muffles the noise, and the drug is still flowing through his veins, turning his attempts at pushing the other away into weak, useless struggling. The panic is rising again in his chest, and Mark is now realizing that something is very, very wrong with this situation.

“What the hell, Jackson?!” Mark gasps when they break apart for air. He’s bewildered, more so than before, all while Jackson calmly locks gazes with him in silence. Jackson is _never_ silent, Mark thinks, and it’s making him nervous. If this really was a prank, it was going too far. 

But Jackson isn’t giving him a reply, instead he’s prying Mark’s legs open and settling between them like he belongs there. Then, he works Mark’s belt off and is tugging his tight jeans down, leaving him only in his underwear and a loose sweatshirt. The older boy is breaking into a cold sweat now, not wanting to believe what was actually happening, that this was reality and not a bad dream. He feels sick. 

“Don't do this,” Mark says shakily. Of course, Jackson ignores him. 

Mark trembles as he feels a rough hand explore the smooth expanse of his stomach, continuing upwards to his chest. Jackson begins to mouth at his neck, and the warm wetness of his tongue sliding against Mark’s skin feels so good he has to bite his lip to keep himself from letting a moan escape. Yes, Mark is disgusted with himself for enjoying the feeling, but physically he’s unable to resist. _It’s the drugs_ , Mark reminds himself.

All of a sudden, Jackson is grinding down against him, and Mark can’t stop the shaky moan that tears itself from his throat this time. The movement continues, and Mark feels himself growing hard at the pleasurable sensation it brings. He’s also aware of Jackson’s erection as their hips meet, Mark moving unconsciously against his will to chase that spark of pleasure. 

And then Jackson isn’t moving his hips anymore, removing his own pants now, and discards Mark’s boxers swiftly without missing a beat. This brings the other boy out of his small state of euphoria, and the gravity of his current situation comes back full force. “W-Wait,” He stutters, panic lacing his tone. “You aren’t really going to…”

He trails off, because the look in Jackson’s eye is anything but joking. He can only watch in horror as Jackson crudely spits on two fingers and moves them to trace over Mark’s entrance. He shoves the digits in without warning to the third knuckle, and giving no time for adjustment, starts pumping them in and out. 

Mark whimpers at the sharp pain shooting up his spine, but he can’t do anything to stop the assault with his arms bound and limbs barely responding. Never before has he felt so scared and hopeless, and he wishes that it was someone else manhandling him. Then, at least it would have been easier to stomach what was happening. Mark didn’t want to believe that the person above him was Jackson, someone he thought of as a close friend since their trainee days, who was treating him so cruelly.

Soon, Jackson removes his fingers, wipes them on the sheets, and repositions himself between Mark’s legs. Mark feels dread settle heavily in the pit of his stomach, because he knows what’s coming next. “Stop,” He tries again desperately. And for a second, Jackson pauses and looks at him with blown, lust-filled eyes, and Mark is a bit hopeful that the other will listen. But his hopes are dashed when Jackson simply replies, “No.”

Then he’s shoving himself into Mark so quickly and forcefully that Mark feels like he’s being torn in two. He screams, because the stretch is _too much_ , and his insides are burning so badly at the strain. The drying saliva used as makeshift lube wasn’t doing much to ease the pain anymore. “Take it out! It h-hurts!” Mark gasps as Jackson pushes into him a couple more times, since Mark’s body was not accepting the intrusion so easily. He feels a slight wetness trickle down his thighs, and his heart sinks as he realizes he must be bleeding from the roughness. Tears gather in Mark’s eyes as Jackson continues to mercilessly force himself in and out him, all while disregarding his cries of pain.

“You’re so tight, relax a little,” Jackson growls into his ear. Mark jolts when he feels teeth clamp down on his neck, exactly the same time as Jackson hits something inside of him that makes his vision go white. Pure ecstasy courses through Mark as that same spot is repeatedly hit, and his moans are soon raising in volume and pitch. “Right there, huh?” Jackson mutters. 

The newfound pleasure, combined with the lingering pain from before, creates an addictive sensation that Mark’s body is starting to crave, and he feels a familiar heat build up in his lower half after a few more haphazard thrusts. The heat only seems to increase as more bites and hickies are littered on his neck by Jackson. In the back of his mind, Mark was surprised; he’d never thought himself as masochistic, but maybe he was––if the quick approach of his orgasm from how roughly he was being handled was anything to go by. Mark comes with a breathless cry, body tensing and tightening around Jackson so hard that he’s digging his nails into his hyung’s hips and struggling to hold back his own climax. 

Jackson’s thrusting has become erratic, but he hasn’t come yet, and Mark is forced to lay back and take it as he continues. He’s spasming from the oversensitivity, each thrust sending a jolt of pain through him. Mark squeezes his eyes shut and bites his lip in an effort to endure the onslaught of sensation he’s receiving.

____

Jackson thinks Mark looks so pretty right now. He looks ethereal, with his red hair splayed messily on the pillow from moving so much, lips swollen from constant biting and shiny from spit, and tears streaming down his beautiful face. Absolutely perfect, Jackson thinks.

From his debauched state below him, Mark is saying something, but Jackson can hardly hear him over the wet sounds of sex and his own ragged breathing. He feels the coil is his stomach tightening and he’s so close. A few more thrusts and–– “...hate you,” Jackson catches before his mind goes blank.

He comes harder than he ever has, spilling into Mark and riding out the waves of pleasure. The room is filled with the sound of Jackson’s heavy breaths, and the occasional sniffle from a motionless Mark. After Jackson comes down from his high, he composes himself and sits back, gently pulling Mark into his lap. One hand comes to rest on the older boy’s hip while the other pulls him in close by the neck; Mark is too drained to resist anymore. Jackson’s touches are soft and slow, a complete contrast from not too long ago, and the unexpected actions have Mark meeting the other’s tender gaze. 

And then Jackson is leaning forward and whispering something into his ear. His voice is as thick as syrup, and sweet as sugar when he says, “You’ll learn to love it, Angel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need help  
> Anyway, comments and suggestions are appreciated! :))


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I made a continuation b/c I had time for once >_<
> 
> (Again, this is all just imagination. I'm not trying to say or imply rape/non-consensual sex is acceptable in any way.)

Jackson exits the room after some time, untying Mark’s wrists but keeping his left ankle chained to the bed. Mark hadn’t fought back. Not that he could get very far even without the restraints anyway. He hadn’t had a proper meal in the past two hours and was still recovering from the drug’s debilitating effects, lying on the mattress between a state of consciousness and sleep. In addition to his aching body, Mark was also starving, his stomach rumbling and reminding him that it was empty.

Now with Jackson gone, Mark is left all alone in the deafening silence of the room. There were no windows, no other furniture besides the bed, and only a dull lamp in the corner for lighting. Absolutely nothing that could identify where he was or be of any use to escape. 

Escape. That’s what he needed to do, because Jackson of all people drugged him, kidnapped him, and fucked him despite his cries to stop and that wasn’t the person Mark had grown to love. The Jackson he knew was kind, lovable, and would never do such heinous things to anyone.

However, this was reality. The mixture of come and blood dripping down Mark’s thighs is more than enough proof that he’d misjudged the younger’s true character by a long shot. Mark tries not to feel so heartbroken at the realization. Of course, the mess between his bare legs and heavy chain resting at his ankle does nothing to help.

The sad thing was, Mark probably would have let Jackson take him if the circumstances were different, unaware of the other’s sadistic personality. He would have never found out about the younger's sick ways had he not experienced them for himself.

 _But, don’t you love him?_ a voice in the back of Mark’s mind all but mocks. Though, _loved_ might have been a better word to use, since this Jackson was a complete stranger. Mark fell in love with the Jackson who smiled, not sneered at him. Mark fell in love with the Jackson who laughed brightly, not chuckled darkly in his ear. Mark fell in love with the Jackson who lifted his spirits when he was low, not held him down against his will. 

No, there was nothing to love about this new Jackson. 

Mark sits up, gritting his teeth at the dull ache that spikes along his lower half. With great effort, he reaches over the side of the bed and searches for the handkerchief he always kept in his pants pocket. Once he finds it, Mark carefully wipes himself of the partially dried fluids sticking to his inner legs and leaking out his hole. Mark grimaces. _He did this to you_.

He tosses the handkerchief into some random direction after he’s done and lays back down on the bed. He’s so exhausted. His head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton, and his eyelids are getting heavier. Maybe it’s the drugs, or maybe it’s the lack of a proper meal, but Mark can’t keep his eyes open any longer. The last thing he sees before he drifts off into unconsciousness is the pasty, cracked ceiling, the jagged lines overlapping and twisting like a perfect web of lies.

 

 

Mark blinks awake with a start, a strange sensation washing over him as he opens his eyes. He’s not alone.

“Sleep well?” Jackson asks, a smile upon his face but voice devoid of any real warmth. 

The older jumps away in surprise, instantly regretting it when a sharp pain surges up his lower back. He glares at the man standing in front of him, trying not to tremble at the combination of anger and fear he feels at the moment. He’s hyper aware of the fact that he still not wearing any pants, his sweatshirt just barely falling mid-thigh, and that he has nowhere to run. 

“What do you want?” Mark spits, pure venom in his tone. 

Jackson doesn’t look fazed. He brings a small tray into view, responding, “You need to eat.”

As conflicted as Mark feels right now, he can’t deny the fact that he’s extremely famished. One whiff of the enticing aroma of dumplings and he’s salivating like a waterfall. Still, Mark holds himself back enough to continue glaring at Jackson. The man who hurt him so badly is now offering something to eat? It almost feels like a trap of some sort. 

“Come here, I’ll feed you,” Jackson coos, beckoning him closer as if he were nothing more than a skittish pet. Mark feels anger flare up inside him but forces himself to remain silent. He stays stock still, not moving a single muscle.

Jackson tilts his head. “You don’t want any?”

Mark says nothing.

The younger simply shrugs and takes a step back, aware of Mark’s eyes trailing the plate in his hands as he moves away. “Then if you’re not hungry, I guess I’ll just throw this away.”

Just as Jackson expected, Mark immediately panics and jerks forward as if attempting to reach out for the precious food. “Wait,” the older mumbles, desperation in his eyes, and Jackson knows he’s won.

The younger raises an eyebrow, walking back to the edge of the bed. Sullenly, Mark crawls over, the chain at his ankle clinking with every movement. He makes a grab for the dumplings, but Jackson is faster. He slaps Mark’s hand away, tsking softly as the older purses his lips in frustration. “I said _I’m_ feeding you,” Jackson states, picking up the food and placing it a centimeter away from Mark’s mouth.

Indignant at the way Jackson, his captor of all people, is treating him in such a humiliating manner, Mark has half a mind to just bite his fucking fingers off. He’s sure Jackson can sense his outrage as well, but the other’s laid back demeanor shows that he’s not worried. He knows Mark wouldn’t dare. 

In the end, he’s correct. Hunger and lingering fear win Mark over, and he obediently takes a bite out of the offered dumpling, soft lips brushing against the younger’s outstretched fingertips. The action sends a pulse of desire through Jackson, but he keeps himself in check for now. “Good boy,” he praises, and Mark tries to ignore the hot shame simmering inside him. 

But the older is so hungry that he hardly cares anymore. He practically swallows down the rest of the dumpling and the next, and soon the plate is empty within seconds. Mark even accepts the water Jackson hands him, too desperate to quench his thirst now that his hunger is satisfied.

Once he finishes, Jackson smirks at him, setting the plate and bottle down on the floor. “Was it good?” he questions. Mark wipes his mouth on his shirt sleeve, slowly nodding, wondering why the other appears so smug all of a sudden. 

Then he feels it--the warmth insistently curling around in his belly. In fact, he’s starting to feel hot all over, and Mark is pretty sure that it’s not because his appetite has finally been sated. “Why--why am I…?” he gasps, barely making any sense. He squeezes his legs together. Something wasn’t right.

Jackson leans over his shaking form, chuckling lowly. “Why are you feeling so turned on?” he finishes for Mark, smirk never once leaving his lips. “Well, aphrodisiacs will do that to you.”

Mark’s eyes widen. He _knew_ it.

“Fuck,” he curses, attempting and failing to squirm away from the younger. It’s no use; he can’t compete with Jackson’s strength holding him down and advantageous position, energy quickly seeping out his muscles the more he tries to fight back. The younger seizes both his wrists in one hand, pinning them above his head with ease. 

Jackson regards his fruitless attempts at escape with an almost bored expression. “Why don’t you just let me take care of everything? It’d be easier for both of us,” he suggests, and Mark ceases his wriggling for a split second just to hiss a vehement _go fuck yourself_.

“Well aren’t you just lovely,” the younger sneers, “Though I’d much rather be fucking _you_.” 

Then Jackson’s crashing their lips together so hard that he thinks he’ll bruise. The poor excuse for their kiss starts off heated and messy, too much teeth and spit everywhere, but it’s enough to fan the flames consuming Mark, searing his flesh all the way down to bone. God, he feels so hot. His body wants more, craves more delicious physical contact even though his mind is screaming for it to stop already.

But of course, Jackson can’t read his mind. Even if he could, Mark doubts the younger is going to listen to his weak pleas now. So he keeps tearing Mark apart at the seams little by little, putting his hands where they shouldn’t be, pressing up against his body so insistently like he wants them to become one. 

Mark jerks back when he feels fingers at his sore entrance, prodding and dipping inside without so much as a warning. Then, something much bigger is replacing the digits after hasty preparation.

“N-No...I can’t—!” Mark cries, hands clawing desperately at the material of Jackson’s shirt. Tears well up in his eyes as Jackson starts pushing himself in to the hilt, not paying any mind to his distress.

“You will.”

The stretch hurts, especially since Mark hadn’t been properly prepared beforehand. The lack of lube and adequate preparation, paired with how rough he was treated earlier, makes taking Jackson’s thick length incredibly difficult.

But he receives no sympathy whatsoever. Jackson merely holds his hips in place with the hand not restraining his wrists, abruptly pulling out and slamming back in. Mark lets out a broken cry, squeezing his eyes shut as he feels himself tear. Jackson starts fucking into him at an animalistic pace, relishing every scream and pained whimper he rips out of Mark. 

He leans down and captures the older’s lips in a wet kiss, biting down on his bottom lip when he isn’t granted entrance. Mark continues struggling, no matter how ineffective and hopeless it was, and it’s beginning to grate on Jackson’s nerves. Why couldn’t his precious Mark just let himself be taken care of?

Jackson moves his hand over the other’s throat, caressing the soft, pale skin there before squeezing. Mark’s eyes widen in fear, and Jackson can't help the rush of power he feels at that moment. He increases the pressure on Mark’s neck little by little until the older’s air supply is almost cut off, reducing him to a sobbing and gagging mess.

“P-Please,” Mark chokes out, fingers scrabbling at Jackson’s iron grip. The sharp fear in his voice only heightens Jackson’s arousal.

The younger cocks his head to the side with an amused look. “Are you going to be good for me now?” he asks condescendingly, and Mark doesn’t have any choice but to give in. 

He nods the best he can with a hand around his throat, tears slipping down his flushed face and edges of his vision going dark. Perhaps it’d be better if he passed out, the blissful realm of sleep sparing him from the abuse he was receiving.

But the moment Jackson releases the hold on his neck, Mark automatically gulps down lungfuls of air. Jackson chuckles at his desperate attempts to get oxygen into his body, as if this was all a game to him. A game that was rigged from the start with no chance of Mark winning.

“Ride me,” Jackson commands curtly, slapping Mark’s ass for emphasis. He sits back and pulls Mark onto his lap, ignoring how the other yelps in surprise and grabs his shoulders for balance. Then, Jackson sinks him back down on his cock, causing Mark to shudder at the feeling of it sliding in him so deeply all at once. “Well, what are you waiting for?” The younger questions, delivering another sharp smack to his ass when he doesn’t immediately move.

Sniffling, Mark reluctantly does as he’s told, rolling his hips and impaling himself on Jackson’s length. By now, the pain has diminished somewhat for it to even be pleasurable at certain angles. It seems like the aphrodisiac was doing its job, as fire curls within Mark’s stomach as Jackson’s cock slides in and out of him, dragging against his sensitive walls.

“That’s it, you’re doing so well angel,” Jackson praises once Mark works up a decent rhythm, throwing his head back in pleasure. Mark whimpers in response as Jackson bucks his hips upward, striking his prostate in the process. 

Jackson continues aiming for that sweet spot that has Mark’s body itching for more, relentless on his pace and insistent with his touches. Before long, a telltale pressure is building up in Mark’s lower abdomen, and something must really be wrong with him, because he’s so close despite all the pain and harsh treatment he’s received. Jackson had betrayed him, and now his body was going to do so as well.

“Say it,” Jackson growls, sounding close to reaching his limit, “Say you love me.” It suddenly snaps Mark out of his thoughts. For a second, Mark has no idea what he’s being asked to do through the thick haze of lust clouding his mind. 

The younger yanks at his hair to force them to make eye contact, fingers tightening with promise of a punishment every second that passes. It draws a whimper from Mark, who stares right back at him with a conflicted expression etched onto his tear-stained face. 

Why— _how_ could he say it now?

Mark wants to be defiant, wants to say something scathing and angry just to have Jackson at least losing some form of control; maybe so that Jackson would realize how ridiculous his command was. Though, the other doesn’t give him long to respond anyway, shoving their mouths together with the leverage he has on Mark’s hair.

“Say it,” he repeats again. It comes out as a whisper this time, and if Mark didn’t know any better, he’d think Jackson was pleading with him. 

He doesn’t know what comes over him then. Was it the way Jackson was looking at him so expectantly, with nothing but adoration in his eyes? Was it the aphrodisiac flooding through his system and influencing his thoughts? Was it the unbearable heat unfurling in his abdomen? He can’t tell anymore. He wishes it were all a dream.

Mark comes with a soundless gasp, shuddering through his release as Jackson continues slamming into his spent body. “Love y-you,” he whimpers softly, pleasure spiking in him. He’s almost sure Jackson hadn’t heard him, but the subtle hitch in the younger’s breath tells him otherwise. 

Jackson reaches his climax shortly after, filling Mark up again and leaving a harsh bite along his collarbone. 

“Shh, don’t cry baby,” Jackson soothes, dragging a thumb across Mark’s teary face. His voice is gentle and warm, but Mark can’t disregard the fact that this wasn’t Jackson. This _couldn’t_ be the Jackson he knew, and Mark’s tears don’t stop. He tries to hide his face, but the other is having none of that. He pulls Mark’s hands away and pins his wrists above his head. This time, Mark doesn’t fight it.

“Why.”

Jackson looks up at him with his mouth slightly agape, as if surprised he’d talk. “Why?” the younger parrots, head tilting sideways. He traces random patterns into Mark’s feverish skin, hand still loosely wrapped around his thin wrists, seemingly deep in thought. After what feels like forever, Jackson’s face lights up with a sickeningly sweet smile. 

“It’s because I love you.” 

And Mark doesn’t believe him, not at all, not even when his heart starts feeling heavy in his chest and a fluttering feeling settles in his stomach like a thousand butterflies. Mark doesn’t believe him, because the things done to him were unforgivable and this wasn’t love.

Mark doesn’t believe him, not even when he wants to say _I love you too_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading~  
> Comments/suggestions/kudos are appreciated


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